Tuesday, 7 February 2017
my time as the duke
Holey Jesus! Goddamn iguanas fucking like no man ever imaginable. Their tongues, my god, their tongues in every orifice of their scaly, green and black mess of a being. I can't bear to watch but it's there and I see it, see it like a fly. With 99 goddamn eyes all projecting the same holey Jesus image. I have to vomit but I can't smell the washroom. I get inside the men's room and lo and behold it's a trough overflowing with piss and shit and occasional scum sucking vagabond journalist looking for his shoes down the drainpipe. I pull out my member and all that crawls out is moths, heathens of moths, by the plentiful. I can squint only to find my pecker in the gray dust that is left behind. I eradicate all fluids and proceed to wash my hands and some drunken hillbilly looks at me right in the retina and says, "hey man you look like Charlie Chaplin." What do I say? How can I make this as least awkward as possible? I call him Socialist and walk out the door dreaming of iguanas that are still fucking and I vomit blood. And that was just checking into the hotel.
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